


I don't think I can stop this jealousy

by Squidbittles



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Brief Kris Letang, Brief Phil Kessel, Fluff, Geno deals with feelings, Geno is single, IRL spouses, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidbittles/pseuds/Squidbittles
Summary: Something sours in the pit of Zhenya’s stomach, sharp and sudden. If he were ten years younger, he’d say it was jealousy, but there’s nothing here for him to be jealous over, not really.





	I don't think I can stop this jealousy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistresscurvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscurvy/gifts).



> This is for you, MistressCurvy! Thank you for the amazing prompts...I'm sorry I couldn't do more with them, but this piece started dragging me in one direction once I started it. It's as slow burn as you could possibly make 2.6k of fic with a decade of pining behind it. <3

**I don’t think I can stop the jealousy**

 

***

...when it comes, it comes like waves and I can't breathe.

-Meg Myers, _Jealous Sea_.

 

***

He’s in Russia when he gets the message notification. It’s the group Flower had set up, the one that Kuni had nicknamed “Old Farts Club.” Zhenya had scowled at the name, but Sid had laughed his ass off, and now it’s just normal to see the name flash on his phone. 

_Besties reunited_ , Kris had sent, with a link to an article announcing that Jack Johnson was now their new teammate, and a string of unnecessary emoji hearts. 

It’s a Sunday night, and he spent the evening in, trying a new dinner recipe he’d found on that website Sid had sent him a link to last week. Saturday night, he had marathoned the first season of some show Max had recommended - not for the first time, he thinks that “Old Farts Club” has become an unfortunately accurate moniker. 

Zhenya stares at his phone for a good long while before turning it off and turning back to his book. No one will think it’s weird if he doesn’t respond because it isn’t weird. It’s a miracle if he responds to anyone other than Sid over the summer. He doesn’t think about Jack Johnson - new teammates are a problem for September-Zhenya, not July-Zhenya, and that’s not a rule he’s about to break just because the teammate is _Jack Johnson_.

He ignores the existence of the group chat for the next couple of days. Instead, he focuses on his training, goes out to eat with his friends, lets Denis drag him out fishing, and doesn’t push his brother into the lake. On Wednesday, he gets a message from Sid, a picture of his backyard, the water glinting and disgustingly picturesque. If he scrolls up, he knows he’ll see pictures of Sid’s summer of travel and a deceptively casual, _u in Moscow_? Zhenya snaps a photo of his cooler full of fish and doesn’t scroll up, doesn’t think about missed chances and a summer of possibilities. On Thursday, he casually checks the chat again. 

_jack motherfuckin johnson_ , Kuni sent.

_Is he going to fight the flyers for you?_

_Maybe the caps,_ Flower added.

_Ha ha ha_ , Sid’s response is just...so Sid, Zhenya thinks fondly. 

His fingers hesitate for just a moment before finally tapping out his response. _He fight dk he can stay_

_Eyyyyyyy good one g_ , Kuni says.

_My biggest regret,_ Flower laments.

_Tell us how you really feel, g_

Zhenya rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. He picks six emojis at random, drops them like Beyonce drops albums, and ignores the chaos. He laughs when Sid messages him two smiley faces and an eggplant.

***

He gets back to Pittsburgh early in September, never the first, but earlier than he has in years past. His house is clean, but there’s still a lingering smell of must in the air - it used to bother him, but now it’s almost comforting in its familiarity. Another way he knows he’s back, that a new season is about to start. Zhenya opens up the windows, throws open the French doors to the patio, and makes himself a snack. 

_Back_ , he sends to Sid, marble countertops cool against his forearms. He munches through the cheese and coldcut tray, bouncing between apps on his phone because he’s a little wired but a lot exhausted, not because he’s waiting for Sid’s response.

_Welcome back, G! Grill tonight or you going to crash old man?_

_Youre old man_ , Zhenya taps out immediately. He thinks about it for a minute, about his bed waiting for him upstairs, about taking a long hot shower, or even getting some banya time in, thinks about Sid’s rapid response, about how he knows just how to cook Zhenya’s steaks and how he’ll probably pull out a nice bottle of wine to celebrate the fact that Zhenya’s back.

_Still not as old as you, ha ha. Come on, it’ll be fun. Tanger and Cathy are already here. You can meet Jack and his wife, too. Get to know them a little_

Something sours in the pit of Zhenya’s stomach, sharp and sudden. If he were ten years younger, he’d say it was jealousy, but there’s nothing here for him to be jealous over, not really. Sid is always having people over for barbequing, especially as guys first start coming into town. It doesn’t mean anything that he’s inviting _Jack_ , like he belongs in their Old Farts Club. He wants to say that he already knows Jack, or at least that he knows what his face feels like under Zhenya’s fists, but he just sets his phone down on the counter. He focuses on the feeling of the counter under his arms, on the way his house is silent except for the faint sounds of summer birds coming in through the French doors.

It doesn’t mean anything that Tanger’s already there, that Zhenya feels like the afterthought, only invited because he happened to get back today instead of yesterday, because he happened to text Sid. He _should_ go. It would be the responsible thing to do. He’s got an A on his sweater, and as much as he would like to pretend that it disappears when he’s not playing hockey, he knows better. Especially not this close to the season. 

His bed is looking more and more appealing, though. Zhenya’s phone buzzes, skittering across the marble.

_You should have given me your flight info i would have done the bbq on Friday instead :(_

The frowny face isn’t even an emoji. Zhenya puffs out his cheeks and finally sighs, the noise explosive in the quiet of his kitchen, imagining Sid painstakingly typing out the colon and the parenthesis. _I come. You owe me nice steak dinner_ , he finally replies.

_Of course. Just us_

_Shower then i head over_ , he sends, already feeling ten pounds lighter. And all it took was four little completely innocuous words to send his mood into a 180. Fuck, he thinks, halfway up the stairs. He _is_ jealous.

***

He considers stopping and getting some fancy veggies or cheese to bring, but there’s not really a good option between his place and Sid’s, and Zhenya isn’t about to go closer in to Pittsburgh unless he absolutely has to. He just grabs a middling bottle of red out of his collection because he’s not about to show up empty-handed to Sid’s when Jack Johnson is there. He’s also not going to break out something _nice_ from his collection, either - it’s a delicate balance between friendliness and thinly veiled contempt.

Zhenya recognizes Kris’s car, and is pleasantly surprised to see Phil’s, too. He doesn’t recognize the third car, parked in what everyone on the team knows is _his_ spot. He narrows his eyes and does not slam his car door when he gets out. The door’s open, so he lets himself in to the sound of chatter and laughing children. 

“Geno!!” 

He has just enough warning to brace himself before Alex slams into his shins, and he lets out a theatrical, “ _Ooof_!” He crouches down, widens his eyes, “Who’s this guy!?” he exclaims.

“Geno, it’s _me_ ,” Alex says, appropriately scandalized.

“Little Sasha? No, no. You too big to be!” Alex giggles, and Zhenya gives him a gentle hug. Over Alex’s shoulder, he can see a little girl peering out from behind the wall leading into the kitchen. “And who’s this?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

“‘m Jackie,” she mumbles, still hanging onto the wall.

“Hi Jackie, I’m Geno; is nice to meet.” She laughs when Zhenya gently takes her hand and shakes it, and she’s decided that he’s worth investigating further when Sid appears from behind her. Zhenya catches his eye and is struck by the soft, nakedly affectionate expression on his face. He feels frozen, pinned by that look.

“Welcome home, G,” Sid murmurs, smiling crookedly. 

“Is good to be back,” he says, pushing himself up to his feet. He holds out the bottle of wine. “I’m bring a little something for you,” he adds. Sid looks good, tan and well-rested, his summer bulk as synonymous with hockey as coming back to Pittsburgh. Zhenya’s chest aches. He almost doesn’t notice Alex skittering by him, back towards the living room and ostensibly more interesting entertainment. 

“Oooh, you didn’t have to, G, thanks! This looks great though.”

“Maybe we have for dinner, or maybe you keep for later.” Zhenya shrugs like he couldn’t care either way, but he kind of wishes he’d brought a nicer bottle now. Sid’s fingers ghost along his as he takes the bottle, licks his lips like he’s about to say something, and Zhenya’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Jackie-girl, where’d you go, kiddo?” Johnson appears in the doorway behind Sid, and whatever that moment was, it’s gone now. He claps a hand on Sid’s shoulder, thoughtless and easy with familiarity. “Oh, hey,” he says, a little surprised, like he hadn’t actually been expecting Zhenya to show up at all.

“Jack, this is Geno; Geno, Jack,” Sid says, as though they had never before in their lives met, as though Zhenya hadn’t once gone and gotten himself a five minute fighting major for trying to smash Johnson’s smug All-American face in. Johnson nearly rolls his eyes, but instead just smiles and holds out his hand. He genuinely considers not shaking, but the thought of Sidney’s disappointed captain face makes him reach out and clasp his hand in Johnson’s.

“Nice to meet you in a more...friendly setting,” Johnson says, and Sid’s expression is so pleased, like he’s relieved that Zhenya and Jack aren’t immediately trying to murder each other. Zhenya stifles a sigh, and tries on a smile that he hopes looks friendly and not like he’s about to strain something. Either it works, or Johnson is too polite to say anything about it. “I see you met Jackie.”

“Yes, she’s very cute.”

“Ty’s in the living room with Kelly, if you want to meet them,” Johnson says, and Zhenya gives up and takes it for the olive branch that it is. He nods and follows Johnson into the living room. Cathy and little Victoria are curled up in the corner of one of Sid’s couches, Tanger’s on the floor by their feet with Alex sprawled out on his stomach, giggling madly. There’s a woman who must be Kelly in one of the armchairs with a baby, who Zhenya gets officially introduced to. Phil comes in from the kitchen with a couple of beers, hands one off to Zhenya with a nod.

They settle in to watch the Pirates game, and slowly, Zhenya begins to relax. Sid putters between the kitchen, the living room, and the deck, sometimes sitting on the arm of the couch next to Zhenya, sometimes on the floor where the kids are drawn to him like magnets. Zhenya stays where he is, but keeps an eye on Sid. It’s a familiar dance, one he does every time he has people over for a cookout, and Zhenya knows there’s no use asking if he needs help because Sid’ll just say no, that he’s fine and he’s got it under control. 

Johnson asks at least three times, and Zhenya feels smugly superior that _he_ knows how Sid operates better than _Jack_ does. He can’t fool himself into pretending that he doesn’t watch their interactions, that he doesn’t preen a little when Sid plops down next to him instead of Johnson. He’s feeling pretty good by the time Sid goes out to the deck carrying a plateful of meat and perfectly put-together kebabs. 

Zhenya gets up quietly, grabs another couple of beers from the kitchen, then slips out the door behind him just like he’s done a hundred times before. Sid looks up from the grill, but it’s not surprise on his face, just that same fond expression Zhenya keeps catching all night. 

“I’m glad you came,” Sid says quietly, putting another chicken breast down on the grill. 

“Said I would,” Zhenya says, only a little affronted. He cracks open one of the bottles and hands it to Sid before opening his own.

Sid’s still got that crooked little smile on his face as he says, “I know, but -” and Zhenya is struck by how much he wants to kiss him. “I know that you and Jack have had...your differences over the years, and I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re here, that you’re making an effort.”

He shoves down the kissing urge, just like he’s done every other time it’s happened over the last decade, but this is the first time that he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to. “Of course I do,” Zhenya says just as quietly. Maybe, he thinks, he could just lean down a little, tilt his head and kiss that stupid crooked smile, that Sid would let him, would even return the kiss. “Always I do for you,” he adds, watching as the smile slips off of Sid’s face as his lips part into a soft “O.”

“I…” Sid licks his lips, and turns back to the grill. “Me too,” he says after a moment, which doesn’t make sense, but Zhenya’s heart thuds faster in his chest, regardless.

Zhenya leans a little closer, enough that he’s not sure if the warmth is coming from the grill or from Sid himself, steels himself for a conversation that before now, he’d never intended to have. “I’m sorry about Moscow,” he says. “If I know, I’m come home early instead of stay in Miami.”

“It’s really fine, Geno,” Sid says. He flips over the chicken breasts, then glances at the platter. Zhenya puts a couple of the kebabs on the grill for him. “I should have said something earlier, not just expected you to be there.”

“Still -”

“What would you have done, G? Flown out and met me there on a day’s notice?” He says it lightly, a joke, but Zhenya doesn’t feel like laughing.

“Maybe,” he says. He clears his throat, suddenly dry. “Maybe I do, Sid.”

He can hear the sound of the television and their teammates, muted through the glass but audible in the silence between them. The meat sizzles on the grill, and Zhenya swears he can hear the sound of Sid’s pulse. He worries for a moment that this is it, that he’s gone too far, that he’s imagined what he desperately wants between them. 

Sid licks his lips again, swallows, and Zhenya’s world stops for a moment. 

“How about about next summer we plan that trip together?” His shoulders are tense, mouth pinched, and it’s about as scared as Zhenya’s seen him look. He wants to soothe those tense lines away, and he _can_. Sid’s practically handed him the power to do so.

Zhenya reaches out, fingers hesitating for a second before resting along Sid’s jaw. He can feel Sidney go nearly boneless, he shudders at the feeling of Sid’s skin under his, the way he presses his cheek briefly into Zhenya’s palm.

“Together, yes,” Zhenya finally rasps, and gives in. Sid’s lips are soft and dry against his, his hand firm where it’s clutched against Zhenya’s stomach. He feels something within him settle, a feeling of rightness, of Sid, of _home_. 

***

The chicken is a little burnt, and the beef kebabs are a little dry, but no one comments on it. Zhenya’s wine gets complimented by Jack and Phil gives him shit for bringing wine like “some kind of snob, Jesus, G,” but it’s a good meal.

Zhenya’s glad he came, would be glad even if it weren’t for Sid’s knee pressed against his under the table or for the way he drapes his arm over the back of Sid’s chair because those aren’t new, those things are just Sid-and-Geno. The steak date - a real, intentional date - they have for Friday is a little new. Sid throws his head back and laughs loudly at something Cathy says, and Zhenya watches him, helplessly fond and smug all at once in the knowledge that this is theirs. 

_Together_ , he thinks, and takes another sip of wine.


End file.
